Primrose White Laurie Fox Pessemier Acyrlic on wood 5 x 10 inches
Cherry Trees in Snow Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic on canvas 9.5 x 14 inches
Jonquils Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic on canvas 11 x 16 inches
Duel Laurie Fox Pessemier Acrylic on canvas 11 x 16 inches
Dual (sic)
Harika and I came down with the same stomach bug this week,
and now I know what it is like to be sick as a dog. We spent two days on the bed together,
thinking of crazy ideas in our delirium (An April Showers/May flowers show, for
one thing). As near as I can tell the first use of “sick
as a dog” was from 1705. I would have
thought the expression would have come from “sic” as in “ Sic(k) ‘em Harika,”
but no, it has to do with the
gastro-instestinal difficulties in dogs.
The week was historic all around, with the staging of a
“d’Artagnan” event on our very street, rue Servandoni. Although the Three Musketeers was written by
Alexandre Dumas in the 1840s, it is about d’Artagnan going to join the
Musketeers in 1625.
A man in a red velvet suit and a feather in his hat emerged
from our basement at the gallery. He was
followed by another man similarly attired, carrying a sword. A milkmaid, a rapscallion, a cavalier who
looked like he stepped off a playing card…
Two weeks prior, a red-haired woman came into the
gallery. “Would you be interested in
hosting an event surround d’Artagnan?” she asked. “YES, “
I replied, “when?” She stood
dumbfounded. She went on to explain
she’d asked every business on our street and each person had said no. “It’s because I am American, “ I told
her. “Really? You speak English?” Like a champion.
It turned out our gallery was perfect. There was a scene in the performance which
required a place under renovation – and I had three gaping holes in the
ceiling. In fact, I was given a line or
two: when the rapscallion brought the
visitors to the door, I was to tell them I had a message for them from d’Artagnan’s
father – written on parchment, found during our renovations, if they had the
“sign”. They would show me a large chess
piece and Voila! I would present them
with a further clue.
There was a duel in the street, and a fire breather in the
place St. Sulpice. It was a marvelous
juxtaposition between the Musketeers and the twenty-first century, a performance
gifted from a husband to his wife and son.
The performers really hammed it up, in the way those
artist-types can. The fellow in black
lay in the street, in front of a car, while pictures were taken of the
performers and the patrons. A little
girl begged to touch the lady-in-waiting’s dress, squealing “ a real princess!!!” The rapscallion in black (he reminded me
most of the peg-legged sailor in a Wyeth illustration) terrorized children and
parents passing by, and garnered 5 euros from someone who was sure he was some special
style of French beggar.
Two hours later, we returned to our everyday life, with the
knowledge a change of outfit and no fear could turn our lives into something
altogether different.
Luckily, this all took place before the snow on Tuesday. Yes, it snowed all day. It allowed me to perfect my snowball. Since my clavicle repair in February 2009, I’ve
been off on my “pitch”: boules, bowling, snowballs. After reading Tim Ferriss’ 4-hour Chef piece
on how to make a perfect Foul Shot in Basketball, I was able to line up my eye
and arm, and hit the stop light at, well, at least 15 feet!
